


Welcome To The (Tragic Kingdom)

by stephrc79



Series: The Life of Bucky Barnes [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky REALLY hates those ears, Lots of it, M/M, So sorry if this is traumatizing to your childhood, and we all know I can't control what he does, but blame Steve, he's the trolling dick in this one, violence against mickey mouse ears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 06:12:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10211315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephrc79/pseuds/stephrc79
Summary: Remain seated, please.Permanecer sentados, por favor.It's like the joke that just wouldn't die. You burn one set of Mickey Mouse ears on a trip to Disneyland, and your boyfriend takes that as his cue to spendyearstrolling you with those things just popping up all over the place. But that's fine. Bucky has his own plan to get back at the good Captain.A 5+1





	1. Three Weeks Since THE INCIDENT

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Creidhe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creidhe/gifts).



> There was a screaming going on in Bucky’s head. A consistent pulsing sound that had started to rattle, right behind his left eye. Over. And over. And over. He cried into the soft comfort of his pillow, and wrapped it snug around his head in an attempt to block out the Bad Noise. It didn’t work.

With a frustrated growl, he threw the pillow at his phone on the nightstand, sending it crashing it to the floor. Then he rolled back over and buried his face in the mattress.

_“Steeeeve.”_ He let out a muffled whine when the beeping alarm — and it _definitely_ was the alarm, no question — didn’t shut off. Damn Stark tech. “Why with the angry sound?”

It wasn’t until he heard Steve picking his phone up off the floor that he deigned to crack an eye open. He mustered up his best homicidal glare, and grabbed Steve’s pillow, smacking him in the face with it.

Steve stumbled back in shock. “Seriously, Buck? What the fuck?” He picked the pillow up off the floor and slammed it down on Bucky’s head. “‘Scuse _me_ for being nice enough to come shut off your alarm.”

Bucky paused long enough from his pre-coffee, Steve Rogers takedown to shoot back, “My alarm is _music,_ Steven. That was nothing of the sort.”

Steve snorted and plopped down on the bed next to him. He started to ruffle Bucky’s hair, and _hell_ no, Bucky knocked that hand _right_ out of the way. Steve, the bastard, just smirked at him. “And when was the last time your music actually woke you up?”

“Uh, yesterday?”

“Uh, no. You hit snooze about _eight times,_ if memory serves.”

“Fucking old ass man; your memory is shot.”

“I’ll remember that next time you want me to settle one of your weird, post-mission bets with Clint.” He pressed a kiss to the top of Bucky’s head, and _goddammit,_ Bucky couldn’t help but lean into the touch. “Time to get up, sleepyhead. We’re wheels up in two hours. You go shower, and I’ll make coffee.”

Bucky groaned and pushed himself up as Steve went out to put on Bucky’s caffeinated lifeline. Fucking _Hydra_ interrupting his sleep — he was going to annihilate the entire base just for that. It was a fucking _Saturday_ , the dickheads. Couldn’t they go be evil on some random Tuesday, or something?

He yanked himself out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom, where he got the shower going. He wanted to shout at Steve to see if he’d bring him his coffee in here, but ironically, he was too fucking tired, even for that. Instead he stripped down and stepped under the water, letting the bright red heat substitute for the lack of black liquid goodness.

He swayed slightly, eyes closed, attuned only to the water, as it sloughed over him and slowly woke him up by degrees. Never mind about the bed. _This_ was where he really wanted to spend the rest of the morning: under the never-ending spray of perfect temp and perfect pressure. Maybe he could get the best of both worlds, and curl up on the bathtub floor and pass out.

It was some minutes before he finally attempted to move, and made a grab for his shampoo in the rack under the showerhead. He’d barely cracked an eye open, only to jerk back with a surprised yelp, his metal fist slamming into the tile against the back wall. He winced at the resounding _crack!_ that met his ears, but the majority of his attention was focused on the black blobby shape on top of the showerhead.

He blinked the water out of his eyes, and peered warily through the steam, slowly inching forward as he tried to make out whatever the fuck —

“Aw, _hell.”_ He snatched the fucking thing down off its perch, and shoved the shower curtain aside to bellow out,” STEVEN GRANT ROGERS, GET YOUR ASS IN HERE, AND TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK THESE _MICKEY MOUSE EARS_ ARE DOING — oh, shit.” He pulled up short at Steve’s sudden appearance in the doorway, casually munching on an apple.

“Yes, princess?” he asked mildly, leaning on the frame. “What can I do for you, love of my life?”

Bucky held up the offending ears. “What. The _fuck._ Are _these_ doing in our shower? Why do you even have these?” He turned them over, and yep: “And _why_ is my name on them? I thought I burned these fuckers.”

If this was some sort of surprise trip to whisk Bucky away, Steve had another thing coming. After all, Bucky had only _barely_ escaped that first trip with his _life._

“Well, you seemed to love the other ones so much,” Steve responded with the most _infuriating_ shrug. Then he peered past Bucky, and Bucky turned to see what he was looking at, only to cringe at the slew of broken tiles. “Oh, hey, you broke the shower. You’re paying for it this time,” was all Steve said before taking another bite of his apple and...and fucking just _leaving._ Just like that.

Bucky gaped after him before turning his attention to the hat in his hand. Seriously, how the — what the _fuck_ — Steve _knew_ Bucky hated those ears...

Oh, that _asshole._

Well, screw that. Bucky marched his way out of the shower and headed toward the kitchen, soaking wet and dripping. Steve huffed at him, as he walked past, but Bucky just turned his chin up, and made his way over to the stove. He ignited one of the burners, held the ears up high enough to avoid the flame, and gave Steve a challenging glare.

Steve, for his part, just crossed his arms and cocked an eyebrow. “Seriously, Buck?”

Bucky just smiled, and lowered the ears onto the open blue flame.

The polyester sparked immediately, a small plume of smoke rising as Bucky watched the ears go up like the fourth of July. Steve grunted, and Bucky smiled viciously at him. It was satisfying to watch, Steve trying — and _failing_ — not to appear flustered at Bucky’s retaliation, but only in the distant way things tended to be when you weren’t awake enough to truly enjoy them.

Once the ears had burned halfway up to the plastic, Bucky calmly shut off the burner, and dropped the ears into the sink. He left them there to smolder as he grabbed his coffee mug off the counter, poured himself a cup, and headed back to his blessed shower.

He stopped next to Steve, just long enough to smirk at him. “I ain’t payin’ for shit.”


	2. Seven Months, Six Days Since THE INCIDENT

“Am I boring you, Agent Barnes?”

Bucky jerked and shot up straight in his chair, eyes immediately on Coulson, though he had to blink the sleep out of them to see straight. “What? No. No, sir. I’m good. Just —”

“Snoring loud enough to wake the dead?” Steve _unhelpfully_ supplied.

Bucky whacked him on the arm. “I don’t snore.”

“Like a damn wood chipper, Barnes,” Tony added, with a strangled cough, as Bucky turned toward him. Tony was staring at him, his face an interesting shade of puce, and it would have made Bucky curious if he, you know, _cared_ why Tony was the way he was. Instead, he reached into his uniform for a random knife, and let it thunk loudly on the table.

 _“That’s_ for you later, Stark,” he said. “That was a long-ass mission, and I’m not above killing a man if it’ll get _this_ meeting over with quicker.”

“Then, might I suggest, you stay awake?” Coulson commented, in that weirdly affable way of his. “In my experience, staying awake for these things tends to be beneficial. One might even say...in your _best_ interest.”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right, then.” The debrief went on, with Coulson breaking down _every_ square inch of the mission. And sure, it had been a long one, but it had also been pretty straightforward. There was just no _need_ for all of this, and all Bucky wanted to do was go home and snuggle up to Steve on the couch.

_Stay awake, stay awake, stay awake._

“AGENT BARNES!”

Bucky’s eyes flew open just as his knee viciously collided with the underside of the table. He glanced around wildly, only to land on an irate Coulson. _Shit._

“Five minutes, Barnes. You think you can give me just _five_ more minutes?”

Bucky nodded. “Sorry, Coulson,” he mumbled.

It was only then that he noticed Steve blinking owlishly at him, his jaw clenched. Bucky opened his mouth, ready to ask when his deal was, when Steve suddenly turned back around and started hacking up a lung.

Bucky frowned as he reached over to rub his back. “You okay there, Stevie?”

Steve just gave him a shaky nod, though Bucky wasn’t too sure he believed it, considering how red the back of Steve’s neck was. Again, though, he didn’t get a chance to ask, not when a hard thunk met his ears, and he glanced over at Clint, who was _also_ shaking, his head buried in the crook of his arm, and, uh, okay.

It was only then, as he glanced around the conference table, that he noticed how damn-near everyone else seemed to resolutely be looking _anywhere_ but at him. Sam was staring, wide-eyed, up at Coulson, Nat and Tony had their full attention on Clint, Wanda and Pietro both seemed to be fixated on the table, identical fists pressed against their mouths, and Bruce was so engrossed with his tablet, he had it lifted up, practically to his face, obscuring himself from the rest of the room.

In fact, the only people _actually_ looking his way seemed to be _really_ looking at him. Vision and Thor were both watching him, Vision’s head cocked, as though he found Bucky fascinating, while Thor was trying, and failing, to hide a grin.

“What?” he asked. “It’s not like this is the first time I’ve fallen asleep during a debrief.” He had no idea why Coulson yelling at him was such a shock to everyone. “It’s not even like I’m the first person to do it.”

Thor’s smile was almost indulgent. “Well, that is true, my friend, but you _are —_ ” he cut off with a grunt, before glaring around the table. “Was kicking me _really_ necessary?”

“Okay, does anyone wanna tell me what’s going on?” Bucky asked, not that it did any good. Everyone was still in assumed positions, and okay, this was just getting ridiculous. “Anybody? _Any_ takers? Steve —”

Words died in his throat when he jerked his head around to face Steve, because it was only then that he felt it. There was something on his _fucking_ head!

“What. The fuck.” Bucky stilled, as Steve slowly turned back towards him, his face a shade of red at this point that would have made Russia proud. Bucky slowly reached up, his eyes never leaving Steve, only to come to rest on — “Oh, _fucking hell!”_

He crushed one of the mouse ears with his metal hand as he went to yank the damn thing off, only to pull up short when it didn’t budge. He gave it a few experimental tugs, each one making Steve’s eyes that much wider, and making Bucky see just a little bit more murder.

“Tell me,” he growled, as Steve failed spectacularly at biting back a smile, “you didn’t glue these things to my damn head.”

“I didn’t glue those things to your damn head.” Steve gave the tiniest shake of his head, but the lying liar was fucking _lying._ Then Steve pointed at Sam. “The glue was _his_ idea.”

“Hey!”

Bucky turned his murder eyes on Sam, who was looking at Steve like he’d betrayed him somehow, but Bucky was the one with fucking _Mickey Mouse ears glued to his head!_

“I am going to kill you both,” he stated. “I hope you know that. I am _literally_ the greatest assassin in history, and you both are officially on my list.”

“Bucky,” Steve started, all placid, and _fuck you, Rogers._ He tried to pat Bucky on the shoulder, but Bucky just swatted him away. “I’ve been on your ‘list’ since 1927. And yet.” He waved a hand at his very-much living body.

Oh, they would just _see_ about that.

Eyes still on Steve, Bucky reached up again with his metal hand and yanked, _hard_ this time, ripping the ears, and more than a few chunks of hair, off his head. He didn’t even flinch.

He set the ears on the table and gathered up the paperwork in front of him before calmly reaching over to take Steve’s paperwork as well. Steve didn’t bother to stop him, just eyed him warily as Bucky slowly made his way around the table, collecting everyone else’s debrief paperwork. Nobody else tried to stop him either, just watched him — some nervous, some curious, Clint mystified... Nat was the only one who actually handed hers over, a glint in her eye, because she knew what he was doing, and of course she approved.

Once he’d circled the room, he dropped everything into the center of the table. Then he turned back to Steve, picked up the hat, and with a smirk, dropped that on top of the pile, too.

“Bucky...” Steve warned.

“You gonna stop me?”

Steve just arched an eyebrow, and Bucky suspected it was because Steve was a smart man who valued his life, and the fact that he still had all ten digits.

So, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his Zippo, reveled in the gasps going around the room.

“Uh, Agent Barnes?”

“Yo, Charlie McGee, could we maybe _not?”_

Bucky ignored them, and stuck to the task at hand, His smile bled to sinister as he flicked the lighter, the flame immediately dancing to life. Without a word, he dropped it onto the makeshift pyre. Sure enough, the damn hat lit up, taking the paper with it.

Someone was griping in the background, but Bucky had no idea who was doing the bitching (probably Tony). He was too busy staring Steve down, each daring the other to blink first.

The sprinkler system ended up deciding that for them.


	3. One Year, Eleven Days Since THE INCIDENT

The squelching in his shoes — as Bucky headed toward the _blessed_ quinjet — had started to set his teeth on edge. There was mud and grime in just about every crevice of his uniform _and_ his arm — and okay, let’s be honest here, his entire body. He shifted as he stepped over a downed log, and yep. There _definitely_ was mud in places mud just _didn’t_ belong.

He needed a shower. Or ten. Possibly even eleven, considering he hadn’t had one since he left on this godforsaken mission almost two weeks ago. Whoever decided to send him in without all the proper intel was going to get their ass strung up. The mission was supposed to be _twelve hours,_ and he hadn’t even _seen_ US soil in as many _days._

“I hate everything and everyone,” he grumbled to himself, as he crossed the open field. At least home was in the near future — he was finally back in the States, and only a couple of hours outside of New York. Thank God, for small miracles.

The gang plank lowered as he came near, and he trudged up the ramp, instantly going for the buckles and straps of his TAC gear. He shed about half his weight in quick, unceremonious fashion.

He rubbed his eyes and glanced down at the trail of clothes. What a fucking mess.

“Wheels up, fucker!” he called to Clint, up front. “If I never have to visit a place called _Inverary_ ever again, it’ll be too soon by half.”

“Oh, well, you’re _welcome,_ Your Majesty.” Clint huffed a laugh. “It was my _pleasure_ to pick up your sorry ass. No, no. No need to keep thanking me.”

“You know,” Bucky went on, ignoring Clint’s inane bitching as he made his way to the copilot’s seat, “I think actually _have_ been to this godforsaken place before. Some mission back in sixty— _no.”_ He pulled up short, because motherfucker, he did _not_ need this!

He pointed angrily at that _bullshit_ on Clint’s head. “No fucking way, Barton. Take that shit off, right now.”

He should have seen this coming. Steve was the world’s biggest asshole, and he would never be satisfied until Bucky snapped entirely, and went on a murder spree. Joke was on him, though, because Bucky was starting with his dumb ass.

“Now, why would I do that?” Clint asked, all serene and calm, and clearly not aware that Bucky was devolving into Full Winter Soldier-mode. He fired up the engine and took off before Bucky could even sit down, which only saw him fall awkwardly onto the other seat, grimacing at the way his butt _squished._

He tried to glare at Clint, but he just _winked_ at Bucky. “I think I look kind of fetching.”

Yep. Murder spree. Sam was still Number Two, after the glue _situation,_ but damn if Clint wasn’t making a play for that position.

It was then that Clint turned, and Bucky caught the back of the hat, and — “Wait, is that my _name_ on the back of that thing?!” Clint eyes ticked toward him, but then turned again so Bucky could get a clear look, and sure enough, _BUCKY BEAR_ was etched in gold along the black felt of the hat. “Why? Why does Steve hate me _so_ much?”

“Awww, he doesn’t hate you.” Clint tried to reach over, but _wisely_ thought better of it. “And besides, I think he just really wants to make sure you don’t lose you magic hat. Honestly, I think it’s pretty nice of him.”

“Magic hat.”

“You know, the way it keeps turning up and all.”

“You mean like a bad penny?”

Clint snorted. “Something like that.”                                      

Bucky glowered at the hat. “You have exactly two seconds to take that off, or I’m coming after it. And you won’t want that, _trust_ me.”

Clint just laughed, loud and long, and _fuck you, Barton._ “You go ahead and try that, princess. But I’ll bet the next round the ears stay put.”

Well, if _that_ was just gonna be the way...

Bucky settled back into his seat as he waited for an opening. Bucky on mission was a patient man, and that damn hat was coming off. It took another twenty minutes, and just as they made a sharp turn to head into the city, Bucky took his chance and shot out of the chair —

— only to find, in the damn _blink_ of an eye, a fucking _gun_ pointed at his _fucking forehead._

“Touch it, and I put a bullet in you,” Clint ordered calmly, one hand still on the yoke, eyes still focused out the window.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Bucky huffed, and tried to swipe at the hat again, only to freeze at the soft click of the gun being cocked. He eyed the barrel, and took internal bets about whether or not it was loaded. He didn’t think Clint would ever be stupid enough to point a loaded gun at him, but then it was also _Clint,_ who never saw the point of an unloaded weapon.

He wouldn’t put it past Clint to shoot him — albeit not in the head —  just to prove a point. Cutting his losses for now, Bucky slowly lowered himself back into the seat.

“Good boy.” Clint gave a short nod and re-holstered his gun.  “Now buckle up this time, unless you want to get thrown into the windshield.”

Bucky wanted to point out that he was only thrown around earlier because Clint hadn't bothered to wait for him to sit down, but he was currently on a new mission, and he had to strategize if he was going to get his damn hands on that Mickey Mouse hat.

It was another ten minutes before they landed on top of Stark Tower. Bucky spent the entire time plotting the Great Hat Takedown. It really was simple — just catch Clint off guard. Easier said than done.

Clint eased slowly out of his seat, eye on Bucky the whole time, and Bucky practically growled at him, making sure he at least _thought_ Bucky was going after the hat. As he made his way out of the back, he turned and pointed a finger at Bucky’s mess. “Get your muddy shit out of here, or I’m wearing this hat on every mission from here on out!”

Bucky smiled, wicked, and counted to ten. As Clint came into view out the side window, Bucky took his chance: He quickly fired up the turbine engines, the raucous noise making Clint spin around, and the moment he caught the maniacal glint Bucky had plastered on his face, he shouted and come running back. Bucky jumped up and took off out the back, and without even slowing down, cold-cocked Clint with his right hand while simultaneously grabbing the hat with his left.

“Motherfucker!” Clint yelled, as he stumbled back in shock, but it was too late — Bucky was already crushing the ears in his hands. Then he gave it a hard toss, and watched with glee at the perfect trajectory, straight into the spinning turbine.

It disappeared with a tiny _pfft!,_ and Bucky reveled in the satisfaction coursing through him.

He turned back around, just in time for Clint’s fist to come colliding with his own face. He took the punch, because okay, he deserved that, but just the one. When he righted himself, it was to find Clint working his jaw back and forth, and eyeing Bucky like he was some overgrown child. Bucky plastered on a smile, like the punch had had no effect on him, just so he could be the bigger dick.

“I liked that hat,” Clint grumbled. “You know, unlike some _weird people,_ Mickey ears are fun. So is Disneyland. How are you this wrong about all things?”

“You _do_ realize that the Mouse House is, like, one of the most sinister places on the planet, right?” He shook his head. “Just ask Gwen; she knows.”

“Gwen?” Clint looked at him like he was crazy. “Peter’s friend? What's she got to do with this?”

“Not _Stacy,_ you idiot. Stefani.” Clint just continued to stare at him, and honestly, how were they even friends? “No Doubt? Debut album, _Tragic Kingdom?_ And I thought I was the one all fucked up in the head.”

With a sigh, he turned to walk off, only to stop when a thought occurred to him. He turned back to face Clint. “Oh, and hey, next time my asshole boyfriend convinces you to troll me, I suggest you bow out, because a punch will be the _least_ of your worries. Next time I’m shooting _you.”_

As he walked away, Clint called out after him, “I’m not scared of you, Barnes!”

“Two to the chest, Barton!” he shouted back and turned, walking backwards as he added, “And you better _pray_ I’m generous enough to check for Kevlar first!"


	4. One Year, Ten Months, Twenty-One Days Since THE INCIDENT

Ever since Clint, Bucky had been on high alert of any hat sightings. Steve had been quietly trolling him for _months,_ and no amount of threats, bribes, or wheedling could get Steve to even _admit_ he was really doing it. Save for the conference room, as far as Steve was concerned, the hats were just mysteriously appearing, and “You really need to stop stressing about this, Bucky; you’re gonna give yourself an aneurysm. I’m sure Mickey will stop haunting you, at some point.”

It was at that point that Bucky had decided, if he ever _did_ die before Steve, he was going to be the one doing the haunting, and in _the_ most obnoxiously creative ways he could think of, until the end of all times. To the end of the line meant the end of the line; Steve was going to be his _suffer puppet_ until that time came.

The problem was, there was just no _telling_ when Steve was going to attack again. And Buck had no idea just how long it would go on. The hats just...randomly popped up, completely sporadic, and completely _unwanted._

So, it shouldn’t have surprised Bucky, when he went to visit Tony in his lab for some maintenance on the arm, to find out instantly that Steve had struck again.

“What the shit?!” He tripped over one of Tony’s rolling stools, careened into DUM-E, and managed to grapple onto the robot before topping over completely. But his gaze never left the line of MARK suits along the back wall, each and every one sporting a set of _goddamn_ _Mickey Mouse ears._

“Oh, you’re here!” He tore his eyes away as Tony came wandering in, coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, a wide grin on his face. He dropped the tablet at his work station, and pointed at Bucky. “Not gonna lie, he’s cuddly, but if you two plan on snuggling up all afternoon, let me know; I’ll come back later.”

Bucky stared stupidly at him. “What?”

“The robot.” He answered, with a nod. Right, Bucky was still holding onto DUM-E for dear life. With a soft grunt, he released the poor robot — who honest-to-God _whined_ at him when he did — before waving a hand at Tony’s suits.

“Care to explain?”

“Hey, glad you noticed. I think I may have perfected a booster shield for my baby in the middle there, the MARK 84. Not to be outdone, of course, by the MARK 83, which, while inferior in a lot of respects, _was_ where I was able to mix the suit’s titanium alloy with the bit of vibranium T-Cat was oh-so-generous enough to give me —”

_“Not_ the suits, Tony. What’s on their heads.”

Tony barely glanced at the suits before turning back to Bucky, face completely impassive. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Bucky heard a distinctive _click_ in his jaw. “The _hats,_ Tony _.”_

“You mean the head pieces?”

If Bucky could get traditional migraines, he’d be getting one now. “Tony, why are you the way you are?”

“Genetics, big guy,” Tony answered, not missing a beat. Then he walked past Bucky, patting him on the shoulder as he went, and honestly, Bucky was _certain_ he’d killed people for less. He turned to track Tony as stood in front of all seven of the offending suits. “But let’s call a spade a club, here, for a second. I _assume_ you’re referring to the Iron Legion’s new festive hat decorations, are you not?”

“Gee. How did you guess.”

Stabbing. Light stabbing wouldn’t get him in too much trouble.

“Well. If you _must_ know.” When he turned back, his smile was _all_ Cheshire Cat. “It’s not exactly uncommon knowledge that I like Steve better than you —”

“Color me shocked.”

“— and, let’s be honest, if Mr. Righteous America says ‘troll Bucky’, I’m going to troll Bucky. With glee.”

“You know, I could just break your kneecaps. Then maybe you won’t be so quick to jump on the Troll Bucky Train. Literally, actually.”

“Aw, would you do that to a friend?”

“You just said we weren’t friends.”

“Fair point!” Tony smiled at him, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. There was suddenly a new glint to his eyes. “Or, you know, we could call a _club_ a spade, and have our own fun.”

Bucky eyed him right back. “What’d you have in mind?”

~~

“So, the bet is, you have to knock all six hats off, then mine, in under thirty seconds.”

Bucky checked his sights, and took two steps back, only to bang into a table. He shifted to the right, checked his sights again, and nodded. “Got it.”

Tony, now in the MARK 83 suit, was floating mid-air, in front of the other suits. The bet was, if Bucky could shoot off all seven sets of ears in under thirty seconds, Tony owed him ten thousand dollars, and a weekend with the keys to his beloved Bugatti. Of course, it wasn’t as simple as just knocking all the hats off. Tony was suited up and wearing the last one, which meant Bucky had to get that one while Tony was actively trying to dodge him.

And the whole thing was being streamed live on Facebook.

“You ready?”

Bucky cracked his neck to either side, and nodded. “Ready.”

“JARVIS, count it off!”

_“Is this_ really _necessary, Sir?”_

Tony just gave the ears on his head a light tap. “It’s the simple things in life, JARVIS.”

_“If I must. And 3...2”_ — Bucky breathed out a release — _“...1”_

_BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!_

The hats all fell, like ducks at a carnival, in just under five seconds, even with Tony weaving this way and that, trying to block him. Not that it mattered, since he had arranged his shots in such a way as to set Tony up to eventually bank left.

Which he did, because Tony might be a computer genius, but no one knew sniper strategy like Bucky did.

The shot rang out, and Bucky could almost see its trajectory as it sailed across the room, in perfect aim for its intended target.

Dead center to some Iron Man crotch.

Tony flipped forward, and smacked, head-first, into the concrete floor, the hat flying off on impact.

As Bucky sauntered over, he released the clip and chambered round, before setting all three on a table. Tony was now splayed on his back, the faceplate pulled up. He was staring up at the ceiling, looking mildly annoyed, but really, he should have seen that coming.

“That was cheating,” he said.

“All you said was ‘shoot them off.’” Bucky shrugged. “I shot. They fell off.”

Tony also shrugged, clearly conceding the point. “To be fair, I actually thought you’d shoot me in the face.” Then his eyes finally slid over to Bucky, and narrowed. “But, way to go on violating the Bro Code. Aren’t we supposed to not hit below the belt, or something? I know that’s a rule somewhere.”

“That might be true.” Then Bucky crouched down and smiled, all teeth. “But now, I’m pretty sure you’ll think twice next time before deciding that trolling _me_ is anything even _resembling_ a good idea.”

A beat. “You got me there.”


	5. Two Years, Four Days Since THE INCIDENT

The video went viral in a matter of hours, along with the hashtag #wintersironbitch. It would have been funny, especially since it took Tony less than twenty-four hours to post a picture of himself on all his social channels in a t-shirt with the aforementioned hashtag. He even sent one to Bucky.

The problem was the people at Disney seemed kind of, well, _pissed_ about the video. And okay, sure, maybe it looked a _little_ bad — two Avengers using Mickey hats as target practice — but in all fairness, the video was fucking hysterical, and as much as Bucky wanted to feel really bad about it, he only kind of did. In that less than one percent, kind of way.

It took two weeks before Tony finally took down the video, at Pepper's insistence, but it was too late. The damage was done, the memes were all over the place, the mock videos, the line of t-shirts similar to Tony’s that had mysteriously flooded the market...it was all out there. There was no undoing any of it.

“We need to make peace with the Disney People,” Steve announced over breakfast, one morning.

Bucky just snorted into his coffee. “You mean _you_ need to make peace —”

“I didn’t start this!”

“Except for how you _did.”_ Bucky pointed his croissant at Steve. _“You_ were the one who decided to start this slow burn Troll Fest, what...two years ago? You thought it was _sooo funny_ making me stumble on those damn hats all over the place. _Me._ The only person who can put up with _you_ because I know how it feels to be that stubborn and irritable.” Bucky snorted again and took a bite. “I mean, seriously, who trolls someone for _two years...”_

Steve shrugged. “It’s not like I’m getting any older.”

“Ain’t that the truth. Sadly.”

_“Anyway.”_ Steve snatched Bucky’s buttery goodness out of his hand, and took a bite, and _how_ was Steve even still alive at this point? “We need to fix this, and apparently, fixing this means a press conference with all the Avengers.”

“Why...?” That made no sense. If the Disney People were upset at Bucky and Tony, wouldn’t that just mean Bucky and Tony issuing an apology? (A thing he most _certainly_ would not be doing.)

Steve took another bite and munched quietly, seemingly lost in thought. “From what I can gather, Disney went to Pepper about it —”

“Because...she’s the head of Stark Industries?”

“You’d think that, but I think it’s because there’s just a universal acceptance that the only person who can control Tony is her.”

“Okay, that’s fair.” Bucky tried to swipe his croissant back, but Asshole just held it out of reach. “So, press conference?”

Steve nodded. “At Stark Tower.”

“And when is this Love-In happening?”

Steve shoved the rest of the croissant in his mouth. “Twenty minutes.”

_“Steven, I swear to God!”_

~~~~

They almost slammed into Sam’s Toyota in their haste to park, and ran straight to the banquet hall on the main floor. Bucky yanked open the door to find the room already full of reporters, and —

“No.”

“Yes.”

He turned to glare at Steve. _“No.”_

Steve, who was smiling gleefully at him, just took him by the elbow and dragged him toward the front of the room. “Sorry, Bucky Bear, but this is just the way it’s gotta be.”

Bucky watched in horror as they got closer to the stage, where every member of the Avengers was sitting, all lined up, _each_ with a pair of mouse ears on their heads.

“I hate each and every one of you,” he hissed as he made his way down the line to sit in the middle, between Tony and Steve. And, _Jesus Christ,_ every person had some ‘bear’ version of their code names on their hats. _Captain Bear, Iron Bear, Widow Bear, Scarlet Bear..._

There was a hat also sitting on the table in front of his chair, and he ground his teeth stubbornly at it. But as he looked up, into the faces of a room _full_ of press, he knew that if he didn’t plop that thing on his head, and with a _smile,_ it would end up being a bigger PR nightmare than the damn video had been.

He took a deep breath, picked up the hat — _Bucky Bear_ helpfully etched into the back — and dropped it on his head. He only prayed that the smile he plastered on was convincing enough.

And then they were off to the races.

The questions came in hard and fast, people asking about the video, and if Bucky was sorry, if Tony was sorry, how had it affected the dynamics of the team, and so on. Honestly, Bucky thought the whole thing was a little ridiculous and over the top, and eventually tuned out the questions and responses once they’d stopped directing them at him. He eventually began to seriously zone out, until —

“...and that’s why we’ll be spending Bucky’s _one-hundredth birthday_ at Disneyland, with all the winners of our charity event through Omaze.”

Bucky jerked upright and whipped around to stare at Natasha. She was staring right back, eyes challenging, and, _oh no..._

“I’m sorry,” he began, keeping his voice as neutral as possible, “I think I missed that last part?”

“Natasha was just recapping the decision we’d all made, remember?” It was Steve who answered, and Bucky flipped back around to find a look in Steve's eyes Bucky was _not_ comfortable with. He knew that look. “You know, last week where we teamed up with Disneyland to host your birthday party?” He turned back to the room, his perfect Captain America smile locked in place. “Bucky here, feeling bad about upsetting _so_ many kids with his treatment of the Mickey Mouse hats, decided he wanted to spend the day making it up to as many of them as possible, so...”

Steve droned on, but Bucky didn’t hear any of it. Couldn’t hear _anything,_ save for the white noise roaring all around him. Because the look Steve had been wearing was one Bucky had known since they were little kids. It was the look Steve _always_ got when one of his strategic plans went off, and usually without a hitch. It was the look of a job well done.

Then, suddenly, all the pieces fell into place. What Bucky had thought was casual trolling — just Steve having fun at Bucky’s expense, nothing Bucky hadn’t done to Steve himself, countless times — wasn’t so casual after all. Steve launched the attack himself, because if it wasn’t Bucky helping with the initial execution, Steve preferred to work alone. He liked to be the one to get the ball rolling.

Then he would take it to the team, who would jump on board immediately. Even if he hadn’t told them beforehand, they would know afterward, for sure. And of course, the next person _had_ to be either Clint or Natasha. Two people Bucky constantly fucked with, and who wouldn’t give him an inch. It would rile him up, and it did.

That left one final act — one that would set Bucky off. That meant Bucky would need a partner in crime, and since Steve wasn’t available, that left only one other person who could be counted on to do something both stupid and _public._

Steve had just pulled off the ultimate long con. What better way to get back at Bucky for being such a little shit the last time they were there? Hell, Bucky wouldn’t be surprised to find out plans had been made to return before they’d even _left._

Because Steve Rogers had been slowly trolling Bucky Barnes into spending his hundredth birthday back at Disneyland.

Bucky didn’t know if he should be massively offended, or supremely impressed.

Well, _two_ could play at that game.


	6. +1: Two Years, Twenty-Six Days Since THE INCIDENT

“So, we’re all set then.”

“You _really_ want to go through with this.”

 _“Two years,_ Natalia.”

“Oh, I’m aware. Nice shirt, by the way.”

Bucky looked down at his shirt — a red tee that said I CAN’T KEEP CALM, I’M GOING TO DISNEYLAND — and gave her a pained smile. “Yeah, Steve’s a funny asshole like that. You know he laughed for an hour after he gave me this?”

Nat snickered and flicked at his shirt-sleeve. “Point taken. Okay, message me if anything changes.”

He responded with a lazy salute. “Will do.”

She kissed him on the cheek and slipped out of his and Steve’s hotel room, ready to do what she did best. Bucky had no idea _how_ she was going to do it, but it was better that way. Plausible deniability, and all.

The plan was simple enough. The Avengers were going to spend the day with the five winners of their Omaze charity challenge (something about benefiting an organization in Boston that housed families of sick kids, which Bucky was cool with, but _Boston_ ), which consisted of a bunch of kids and their families. And then Avengers were _supposed_ to spend the day in the Mickey hats they'd worn at the press conference.

(Tony was getting off, scot free, because _Steve_ had been planning this shit from the get-go, and it was all Bucky on those damn hats. And worse, it was the part of his public _persona_ that Bucky hated the most. That damn fucking bear.)

Steve had been out the whole time she’d been there — finalizing details, as the defacto head of the Avengers. When he came back, Bucky pretended to work himself into some semblance of a smile. After he’d figured out Steve’s master plan, Bucky had been doing what he could to _appear_ like he had no idea what was going on.

“You ready for today? Can’t think of a better way to spend a birthday than with some kids who’re going through a rough time,” Steve nonchalantly commented, like he had no part in getting Bucky here.

Ha. Bucky had his number. And would be giving it up fairly soon.

He held out his hand, and glared. “Ready when you are. Since, you know, I have no say.”

Steve’s face shuttered for a moment, and Bucky tried really hard not to revel in it. Of course, it was only for a second, but then Steve’s stubbornness took back over. “Well, you did make your bed on this one,” he answered, with barely a shrug.

“Too bad, too.” Bucky brushed a finger along Steve’s jaw. “It would have been nice to have you lie in it with me.”

~~

The day went off pretty spectacularly. With the Disney cast members being as well trained as they were, there were almost zero hiccups getting around the park, considering their group consisted of fourteen Avengers, and five sets of families, to herd around the park for any entire day.

Sure, there were a ton of other people who wanted the odd photo or signature, but it was easy enough to decline when it was explained why photo ops were only reserved for the kids they were with that day. A couple exceptions were made — including a small boy in a wheelchair who was actually dressed up as Thor, and was so awestruck by seeing his hero, he didn’t utter a single word during the entire exchange, just burst into tears after their photo was taken — but that was it.

To give the parents an hour of freedom, Steve and Bucky, with the rest of the Avengers, took all the kids over to Tom Sawyer’s Island just after lunch, where they played spy together. They divided into teams, and in the end, it came down to Bucky’s team, and Nat’s team, and she _said_ she let him win for his birthday, but really, Bucky was just the superior spy, and he would make sure to spend the rest of his days reminding Nat of that.

“You know, Stevie,” Bucky started as he looked up at Sleeping Beauty’s castle. They were setting up to take a huge group photo, and talk to yet more press. There were also people milling all around, phones and cameras out, hoping to sneak in their own photo of all these Avengers at Disneyland. “As much as it _pains_ me to say this, maybe this wasn’t such a bad way to spend my birthday.”

Steve quietly laughed and tugged Bucky closer, planting a soft kiss against his temple. “You know, you said that last time, too. That it hadn’t been all that bad. When are you just gonna admit that maybe you actually _like_ Disneyland?”

“Not in my, admittedly, _super_ long life.”

“And they say _I’m_ the stubborn one.”

“Who’s stubborn?” Sam asked. “We talkin’ about you again, Cap?”

Steve just waved a hand at Sam and laughed. “I rest my case.”

“Well, if we’re being completely honest, I believe our prestigious captain and the birthday boy here are both _equally_ stubborn,” Thor mused, a tiny smirk dancing on his lips. “A matched set, if you will.”

“Gee. Thanks,” Bucky deadpanned, only to get slapped heartily on the back.

“Anytime, my friend!”

“Are we ready to do this?”

At the exact moment, Bucky looked up at the photographer, a hat was dropped on his head, and he glanced over just in time to see Nat smile as she gave hers a small adjustment. She then winked at him, and it was everything Bucky could do not to start laughing.

“Yeah,” he answered, unable to hide his own smile. “I think we’re ready.”

“Jill Capewell, Huffington Post: How has your birthday been so far, Sergeant Barnes?” she asked, after they wrapped up about ten minutes of photos.

Bucky smiled and nodded at Steve. “I was just telling Stevie over here that it actually wasn’t so bad! But then, how could you _not_ have fun when hanging out with such a great group of kids.” One of the kids — a little girl named McKayla, who had been following either Steve or Wanda around all day — came up then and tugged at Steve to pick her up, who, of course, was more than obliging. They smiled goofily at each other, and Bucky just laughed. “See what I mean?”

“And has spending the day here at Disneyland, with all of these families and kids, changed your perspective on how important the Disney brand is to a lot of people?”

Bucky should have seen that question coming. They were here because of that video, after all. He twitched a little, nervous, and looked first at Tony, then at Steve. They were both just watching him, waiting. Great. So, he was on his own on this one.

“I mean yeah, I’ve always known,” he said. “And I guess, you know, with Steve here, who has his own brand with the whole Cap thing, I’ve always been extra sensitive to how people perceive him. But also, I guess I understand what real atroc— what really bad things look like, and as much as I don’t want to hurt anyone, I...” he trailed off as his eyes ticked over to McKayla, who was now staring intently at the back of Clint’s head.

Took someone long enough to figure it out. At least now he wouldn’t have to finish that sentence.

McKayla eyes narrowed and she cocked her head. “What’s a...a sass...merca?”

“A what?” Steve asked, and McKayla pointed at Clint. Bucky had to bite down hard on his lip as Clint grabbed the hat and pulled it off to look at the back. The second he read the words, his eyes bugged out, and he gaze shot straight to Bucky.

“You _didn’t,”_ he murmured, low enough so none of the reporters could hear him. Bucky, for his part, just shrugged.

“Bucky, what —” Steve grabbed his own hat and glanced at it. He turned to Bucky, slack-jawed, and then the whole team was taking their mouse ears off and looking at the back of them.

And sure enough, instead of finding the hats they’d all been given at the press conference — a cute nod to the Bucky Bear for Bucky’s one-hundredth — each and every hat had etched into the back: CAPT SASSMERICA.

Bucky turned to Ms. Capewell and smiled, serene. “You know, I think I know _exactly_ how important an _icon_ can be to the rest of the world.”

~~~~

Steve leaned against the dresser in their hotel room, fingers drumming lightly against the top, while Bucky stood across the room, watching him. Waiting. Every once in a while, Steve would stop, burst into giggles (which lead to Bucky giggling), try to rein it in because _‘this is not funny, Bucky!’,_ then go back to drumming his fingers. This had gone on for a solid fifteen minutes.

“I cannot believe you did that,” he finally huffed, a fond shake to his head. Bucky opened his mouth, only for Steve to cut him off. “No, actually what I can’t believe is _how_ you did that. How did you manage to get our hats switched? They were given to us by Disney staff; someone should have noticed.”

“Natasha.”

“Should’ve figured.”

“Well, at least the Disney People didn’t get mad this time.”

Steve laughed and came to sit on the bed. He patted the spot next to him. “Are you kidding? The kids absolutely _loved_ it. Why would they be mad? I mean, it’s not like you had anything profane written on them, so I think you’re fine. Also, you got the last laugh —”

“Cause it’s my birthday.”

“— and Disney now has a second set of ears to auction off to add to the charity pot.”

“All good points.” Bucky gave Steve a small nudge and a goofy smile, then rested his head on his shoulder. “I had a good birthday, Stevie.”

Lips lightly brushed the top of his head. “Happy Centennial, baby.”

“I _know,_ can you believe it?” He flipped around until he was sitting in Steve’s lap, arms draped over Steve’s shoulders. “How the _hell_ did I make it to one hundred? And I don’t just mean in the general sense. At what point have our lives _ever_ been conducive to seeing old age?”

Steve snorted and leaned in for a kiss. “Buck, we were already _at_ old age when we found each other again.”

“Oh yeah, because everything was _peaches_ before that.” He stuck his tongue out to show Steve he was just teasing, only to dodge out of the way when Steve tried to bite it. “Hey! No damaging the merch, buddy.”

“The merch, huh?”

“My body is a work of art.”

“No disagreements here.”

They smiled at each other, and as much as it was to get Steve back for was truly an _epic_ trolling — something Bucky would _never_ admit to him — it had actually been a really great day. And the day wasn’t over yet.

“I have a present for you,” he said, after a few minutes of them being sappy at each other.

“A present for me?” Steve arched an eyebrow. “Aren’t you supposed to be the birthday boy? I’m supposed to give _you_ a present.”

“Well, do you have one for me?”

“As a matter of fact...” Steve gave him a small push, and Bucky got up and headed to the closet, where he’d hidden his gift for Steve. He grabbed the extra set of ears, with the same etching on the back and stood up, only to find Steve _also_ holding a pair of ears. They both instantly burst out laughing.

 _“Seriously?”_ Bucky exclaimed, and shook his head. “Haven’t I been given _enough_ of those over the last couple years?”

“Yeah, but you destroyed all the rest,” Steve answered, and shrugged. “Besides, I only thought of this earlier, and I’m hoping this one gets a pass.” He held up the hat to show Bucky the back, and written in the now immensely familiar Disney Scrawl were the words SGT SARCASTIC.

Bucky was in actual physical pain, he was laughing so hard.

“Oh my god!” He tried to stand up from where he was doubled over, but the irony was just too much, and all he could do was stick out the hat he was holding. “Thor’s right; we really are a matched set.”

Steve took the hat, only to give his own little shout of laughter. “I was _hoping_ it would say this!”

Bucky finally managed to get himself into a standing position, and wiped the tears from his eyes. “Well, the Disney People took the other ones, and I figured you should have your own.”

“Funny you should say that; I was thinking the _exact_ same thing.”

“Of course, you were.”

“We need a picture.”

“Yes, we do.”

“How should we do this?” Steve asked, looking around. The room was littered with souvenirs and presents, most of them surprises from the kids and their families. If anything was going to sell Bucky on Disneyland, it was all of this.

Bucky grabbed Steve's hat, putting it on his head backwards. Then he did the same with his own, picked up one of the souveniers from today, and walked to stand behind Steve. “Pick me up.”

“And that’s necessary for a picture, how?” he questioned, but picked Bucky up anyway. Bucky made sure his legs were secure, and pointed at the mirror.

“Okay, go stand over there.”

“So demanding.” Steve murmured, but Bucky saw the fond smile in the mirror, and leaned over to plant a wet one on his cheek. Steve smiled wider at him. “What was that for?”

“Can't I give my asshole troll boyfriend a kiss whenever I want?”

“Well, with such sweet endearments like that, how could I possibly resist?”

“Considering what I _actually_ wanna call you, that _was_ sweet.”

“Are we taking this photo, or what.”

Bucky swatted Steve lightly in the side. “Yes. Ass.” He grabbed his phone out of his pocket, leaned over enough so it showed both their shirts, and held his phone up. “Say ‘light it up, Mickey!’”

“Or how about, ‘Barnes can bite me!’” Steve countered, and Bucky snapped the photo.

Bucky kissed him one more time with a, “Maybe later, if you're lucky,” then hopped down to stand next to Steve.

“I’m going to paint this and hang it,” Steve announced, as they looked the image over.

“Why does that not surprise me.”

“Hey, be nice.” Steve poked him side. “Besides, it’s your birthday, and the fact that it exists means I have you in my life, and have been lucky enough to have that for almost a hundred years. That’s amazing, and I wanna commemorate it.”

Bucky tried not to blush, but he couldn’t help it. Leave it to Steve to take an epic troll and turn it into something mushy. The man was a giant sap, and Bucky loved that so few people knew that about him. _Bucky_ was the lucky one.

“Though, I gotta say, Buck,” Steve went on, as he traced a finger along his hat in the picture, “I figured you’d get revenge at some point, but this seems a little tame, even for you.”

Bucky snorted and flopped down on the bed, propping himself up on his elbows. “You’d think that wouldn’t you, but you’re forgetting something very important.”

“What’s that?”

Bucky smiled, and waited for Steve to look up at him, because this, right here? This was the best part. The part Steve didn’t get; the part he _never_ saw coming.

“From now on, whenever you appear in an interview, in an article, on a cover — especially a gossip rag — that’s what people will call you,” Bucky informed him, and let his smile grow that much wider. “Because of _me,_ the world will now, forever and always, call you Captain Sassmerica.”

As the words poured through Steve — eyes increasingly wider as his brain worked over Bucky’s words — he turned an absolutely love shade of puce.

Because he knew Bucky was right. Steve might be a master troller, but the press was viscous. They would take that moniker and run _wild_ with it. And considering how Steve was rarely ever _not_ snarky and caustic, even if the name died down, the moment he dropped attitude in public, they would drag that name right on out all over again. And considering Steve’s personality, that name was _never_ gonna die.

But more importantly, the whole thing was just going to lead to all their friends rolling it out every chance _they_ got, and harassing him with it. And honestly, even if the press didn’t bother Steve, they both knew there were no bounds to which their fellow Avengers wouldn’t strive to make Steve’s life as miserable as possible with it.

_“No.”_

_“Yes.”_

And that, right there, was why you should never fuck with Bucky Barnes.

**Author's Note:**

>  **From Steph:**  
>  First, I want to say thank you to [fandomtrumpshate](http://fandomtrumpshate.tumblr.com/) for hosting this auction. It has been such a privilege and honor to be part of something that donated to just so many worthy causes. 
> 
> Second, I would like to give a very special thank you to [bucket-and-steeb](http://bucket-and-steeb.tumblr.com/) for going completely above and beyond with their donation amount. NGL, I was totally floored by the amount you gave to Planned Parenthood. You are an absolute angel.
> 
> Finally, my undying love and thank you and hugs to my Partner in Stucky Crime, [petite-madame](http://petite-madame.tumblr.com/). You are the entire reason I am alive and well within this fandom.  
> ~~
> 
>  **From Petite**  
>  I'm joining Steph to thank the mods of [fandomtrumpshate](http://fandomtrumpshate.tumblr.com/) for their hard work and for organizing this auction.
> 
> I'd also like to thank [bucket-and-steeb](http://bucket-and-steeb.tumblr.com/), not only for her generous donation, but also for giving Steph and I an incredible artistic freedom for this project. We just...teamed up and went wild! We both hope you’ll enjoy the result. ♥
> 
> I'd like to thank, OF COURSE, [stephrc79](http://stephrc79.tumblr.com/) for putting so much time, energy and passion into writing another story based on The Life of Bucky Barnes. You are a total sweetheart and I'm blessed to have met you through the Stucky fandom.  
> Finally, our hearts go to James Buchanan Barnes, who has to bear on an everyday basis, the passion of his boyfriend for Disney-Pixar, and navigate in his apartment between mountains of Tsum Tsums and ugly Mickey plushies.  
> ~~~~~~~
> 
> A special special THANK YOOOOUUUU to [Brenda](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda) for the beta. All other errors fall on me.  
> ~~~~
> 
> Feel free to come play with us on tumblr at [stephrc79](http://www.stephrc79.tumblr.com/), or petite at [petite-madame.](http://www.petite-madame.tumblr.com/)  
> ~~~~


End file.
